Parallel Memory

Chapter 676: “The Blazing Horizon”

The dawn that came was not dawn at all.It was fire.

From the high ridge overlooking the devils' expanding domain, Kaelion watched as the horizon bled crimson and gold, the last remnants of morning light consumed by the writhing clouds of infernal energy. The ground itself pulsed like a living wound, and in the distance—the silhouette of a palace rose.

Once, that structure had been the Arena. Now, it was something else entirely. Black spires stretched upward, crowned with flames that never dimmed, and from its heart, a pillar of red light surged toward the sky, splitting the world in half.

Kaelion's grip tightened around the hilt of his greatsword as the wind howled. His armor was scorched from days of relentless skirmishes, his cloak torn to shreds. The sigil of the Vanguard fluttered faintly at his chest, half-burnt but unbroken.

Behind him, the army waited—tens of thousands of soldiers, their banners reduced to tatters, their faith held together by the thinnest threads of command. The Saintess's light shimmered faintly across the sky, forming a temporary barrier around their encampment. It would not hold for long.

"Report," Kaelion said without turning.

Nock Fletcher stepped forward, a blood-smeared map clutched in his hand. "The devils have moved three of their legions toward the southern ridge. Seraphine's unit is holding them, but we're losing ground fast. The Saintess is reinforcing the barrier line on the western flank, but her mana is draining by the hour."

"And the relic?"

Darien approached, his once-white cloak now darkened by soot. "The relic's resonance has stabilized. It's acting as a beacon—keeping the devils' corruption from spreading past this point. But the moment it falters, this entire front collapses."

Kaelion nodded, his gaze fixed on the distant palace.That was their destination.Their final stand.

He could feel it in his bones—the same way a soldier senses the moment a battle turns. The equilibrium they'd fought to preserve since the Pope's sacrifice was slipping.

And if they didn't strike first, there wouldn't be another chance.

"Prepare the first division," Kaelion said, his voice carrying over the wind. "We move at sunset."

The words sent a ripple through the camp. Soldiers stiffened, commanders exchanged tense glances, but none spoke against him. They all knew what it meant.

A direct assault.

On the Devil King's Palace.

Nock lowered the map, his brow furrowed. "You realize what you're saying, Kaelion. That place isn't just a fortress—it's a realm. Aamon's power has reshaped it. The very air devours light."

Kaelion finally turned, meeting his friend's eyes. "If we wait, it spreads further. The Pope sealed the gate once. But that seal won't last forever. If we don't take the palace now, it'll become the next Obsidian Cradle—and this world won't recover."

Seraphine approached, wiping blood from her halberd. "Then we burn our names into that place before it swallows us."

A faint, grim smile tugged at Kaelion's lips. "Exactly."

The day stretched on in uneasy silence. Soldiers sharpened weapons, repaired armor, whispered final prayers. The Saintess stood at the center of the camp, her hands raised toward the sky, weaving barriers of golden light that shimmered faintly like glass. Darien stood beside her, the relic pulsing in his grasp—its rhythm steady, almost like a heartbeat.

When the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the land, Kaelion mounted his steed and rode to the front lines. The wind carried the scent of ash and ozone; the world felt poised on the edge of collapse.

He drew his greatsword, the blade etched with faint runes that flickered with blue fire. "Vanguard!" he roared.

Thousands of voices rose behind him.

"For the light!"

"For the fallen!"

"For humanity!"

The army surged forward.

The first shockwave hit as soon as they crossed the threshold of the devils' domain. The ground split open, black tendrils of corruption lashing upward. Flames burst from the cracks, forming twisted figures of molten flesh—lesser devils born from the land itself.

Kaelion didn't slow. His sword cleaved through them, each strike followed by arcs of lightning that lit up the dark sky. Around him, the vanguard pressed forward, their formation unbroken even as the world itself fought to tear them apart.

"Keep pushing!" Kaelion shouted. "Don't let the ground claim you!"

Darien and Nock fought just behind him—Darien's blade glowing with divine resonance, cutting through the corrupted tide, while Nock wove barrier sigils that detonated like small suns. Seraphine led the flank, her halberd carving a path through the monstrous swarm.

The air thickened as they neared the palace. The very sky seemed to ripple, torn by the energy radiating from within. Kaelion could feel it—Aamon's presence. Distant, but vast. Unrestrained.

"This is madness!" Nock yelled over the chaos. "Even if we reach the gates, how do you expect to breach them?"

Kaelion grinned through bloodied teeth. "We don't breach them."

He raised his sword—and the runes along its edge flared."We break the horizon itself."

He swung.

The world erupted.

A thunderous wave of energy tore through the battlefield, splitting the clouds apart and driving back the darkness for the first time in days. The devils recoiled, their howls piercing the storm as the vanguard surged through the breach.

The gates of the Devil King's Palace loomed before them—massive obsidian doors carved with countless sigils that glowed like molten veins. As the wind roared, the Saintess's light burst overhead, raining down in golden streaks that seared through the corruption.

Darien caught his breath beside Kaelion, awe and dread mingling in his voice. "You just—tore the sky open."

Kaelion's eyes burned like steel. "Then let's make sure it stays open."

The gates trembled as they approached, the ground quaking beneath their boots. From beyond the doors came a low, guttural sound—like laughter, but warped, echoing through dimensions.

Seraphine tightened her grip on her halberd. "He knows we're here."

"Good," Kaelion said, lifting his sword once more. "Then he knows who's coming."

Behind them, the horizon blazed brighter—gold against red, light against corruption. For a moment, the world itself seemed to hold its breath as the vanguard stood at the threshold of hell.

The final assault had begun.

And in that moment—amidst the storm and fire and fading light—Kaelion swore silently to the Pope, to the Saintess, to the countless souls lost in this endless war:

We will not break.

Even if it meant burning the world to save it.